A little over a week ago, I found out through Instagram that an close friend had taken his life.

It struck me hard, and I reached out to friends at the campus where he was, to see if they were alright. We talked about fond memories of Jay and how he all made us laugh and feel special. For the first time, in a while, it felt like I hadn’t transferred from Atlanta to Savannah. I apologized to those who I hadn’t spoken to in a while that these were the circumstances I was contacting them on.

About three years ago, I created a project called Frequently Asked Questions. It can be found in its entirety here (I haven’t updated this in years, but just now decided to return to it). It was a project about mental health, contemplation about suicide, and my struggle to find a place in this world. Last night, I found out that the campus where Jay took his life has completely stopped mental health services, and (it is rumored. I saw a student repost a post from a counselor on the SCAD Atlanta counseling page. I will need to still confirm this.) all of the counselors have quit due to the amount of suicides occuring and the policies SCAD employs for handling mental health. Though photography was my outlet for grasping my mental health, Jay didn’t have this outlet. Another student, who took their life and those before them, didn’t have this outlet. On top of this, SCAD limits their students on the amount of times they can visit a counselor. Only can you visit a “mental health professional” three times during a quarter. While you visit, you sit there, and the counselor asks about your sexuality and friend groups, and tries to pinpoint that as the reason for having anxiety or feeling depressed. At the Hong Kong campus, mental health services are not even offered. I sent a detailed email about my mental state, while in Hong Kong, to administration, who then suggested that I visit an “outside therapist” that would cost me hundreds of dollars and a bus ride to a territory they were not familiar with.

A few days ago, I signed a petition. And I kindly ask that you sign it here too. Some reading this may not be familiar with SCAD, but I will be honest. SCAD is a toxic place. It is not warm and welcoming, as it presents itself to be. Many of the students are entitled and privileged, causing other students (particularly those of color) to feel as if they do not belong at a school like SCAD. In my years since creating FAQs, I personally have felt discrimination because of being a black female. Students don’t care to look at my work or speak about it. Often times, I’ve been stared at, as being the only black student in a class. On many occasions, I have been questioned about my race in rude ways or even my economic background. SCAD feels like high school, and my high school is nothing compared to SCAD.

My goal for 2019 is to take a stronger stand, for those like Jay, and give them a voice they were not able to share before it was too late. In the middle of the night last night, I felt inspired to write a poem about my feelings toward Jay’s suicide. I was also listening to Billie Eilish and feeling pretty emotional:

| 11. 28. 18 |

(when) the tide rolls in

and I’m screaming underwater

you said you’d be here and

now you’re a goner

built up trauma

where’s my mama

there’s so much we don’t know

they locked the doors and left

you cold.

do you like to see me cry?

on a night, two weeks in,

on my floor, heaven sent the silence

and the howl of the wind.

and my words don’t mean much

when he was mind was made up.

how could I have known

his walls were caving in?

I know I haven’t written in many months, as I have been struggling with my health (both mentally and physically. It has been determined that I may possibly have psoriatic arthritis, which is a very painful and draining condition that causes me to be very fatigued.) But it would mean a lot to me if you guys left some comments about how you feel regarding SCAD’s policies or your own schools. Thanks for being there. (I am currently selling prints here and it would mean so much if you checked them out!)

it's been pretty quiet around here this month. august has proven to be the best month of summer, for me. i have noticed an amount of growth in myself that i've never noticed before. i am now comfortable in my own skin. at the beginning of the summer, i felt so lost. financially, i was struggling. emotionally, my anxiety was just in a really horrible place. my friends seemed to dwindle because they were living their own lives in new york or wales, and i couldn't even find a decent job. but after working at a children's store for almost a month, i feel secure...not only financially but emotionally. my anxiety is probably the best it's been since starting my medication. i do still get a little clammy every now and again, but no more full on panic attacks. no more sleepless nights. no more intrusive thoughts. i'm not as hard on myself anymore. i had to realized that i have friends that love and support me, and even if i don't see them every day, they are still there. (hi dani. hi cristina.) this month, i also grew as a photographer. i started shooting color film about two weeks ago, as well as fashion. two things i thought i'd never do. daily, i keep reminding myself that i need to get my rolls developed, but i still haven't yet. lastly, as you may notice, my focus has shift in a certain area in my life. one that is very personal. this summer was rough at first, and i definitely didn't foresee any movement, but it's happening. and it's great. the poems explain a little more than i'm giving, but enjoy and comment.

hi guys. i know it's been a while. a lot has been happening, and though i've been writing, finding the time to post is hard. lately, i've been on a rollercoaster. ups and downs all around. i just got a new job, but i feel like i'm failing at it. i made a new friend, but i feel like i'm not good enough. i thought i had control of my mental health, but i don't. i guess this is all the effects of the blood moon. i've been updating my youtube channel a lot, and was going pretty strong with veda, but i had to stop, because it was just too much pressure. i feel like i'm floating through like currently, and it's not a good feeling. it's weird because i'll feel such high moments, and then hit rock bottom. right now, i don't really feel comfortable in my own skin. and my anxiety is getting worse, and it's showing physically. right now, i just don't feel like i'm in control of anything.

did you notice my formatting was different? i've been writing longer poems recently, and now they are more like paragraphs than short poems. but as always, enjoy + comment!

I’m ugly from within and hideous from without. I have not found equilibrium beauty.

I miss him, in that he watered my garden of optimism and relieved me of my fear that I didn’t have the capacity to cause anyone to feel anything other than nothing. Last season was a monsoon of misunderstandings and anger and sweet words. now I still wait by my phone to see if he’ll break ground on this drought.

There’s not much for me in this world. I realized that. I am caught in my own parachute, plummeting to my own death as fast as the wind blows through the hair I’ve lost. There’s not much for me in this world.

Every day the tape restarts and every night the tape rewinds. I get up. I fail. I go back to sleep. I lose control. I don’t eat. I panic in my own sheets. I reveal too much. I retract. I pick their inner minds and sift through their strangest desires.

being diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder made me realize how much pressure i put on myself. i push myself to my literal breaking point until i cannot go any further. i've been doing this ever since i can remember, but it started to become a problem in high school...particularly my senior year when suddenly adulthood was around the corner. i was taking two ap classes, applying to colleges, preparing for prom and graduation, all while trying to move out of an apartment my mom and i shared, and have a social life. when my face would burn and i felt like i was suffocating--in high school--i thought i was just being nervous. it wasn't until this year, i took the step to seek professional medical attention. my anxiety was sent into a spiral when i decided to study abroad in hong kong. between the loud sounds, constant smell of cigarette smoke + my asthma, not knowing the language, struggling with identity and making friends, fall semester was extremely rough for me. i even developed a skin condition called neurotic excoriations, which causes me to scratch and pick at my skin during times of panic. my skin got so bad that it began to bruise, burn, and ache constantly because the top layer was severely damaged. but, spring break of this year was when i sought counseling and was put on medication. along with the medication, i enrolled into my university's counseling service, moved-off campus, and regularly speak to family and friends for support. looking back to fall, i have improved so much.

my therapist told me that routines help those who struggle with anxiety because it gives us a checklist of what to do, and by following things step-by-step, we are able to focus on one thing at a time. when i have a panic attack, it is hard to focus on much. my brain flicks from the air quality, the heat, how clammy i feel, what i said to someone yesterday, how i didn't reply back fast enough, how i skipped a meal, what someone said to me during critque. so, in these moments i've developed a routine that has been working well for me these past couple of months. (enjoy + comment:)

the routine

take a walk. i have come to the conclusion that panic attacks are unavoidable, especially for someone with GAD. So, when i'm having a really bad panic--to the point where I can't control it by speaking to myself--i immediately step outside and take a walk. walking helps me tap into my senses. i usually take walks at night, when the city has quieted a little, and listen to music. i absolutely have to listen to music. it's soothing for me and if i don't have it on my walk, the racing thoughts continue.

eat something. during the school year, particularly after midterms this quarter when i went into a really dark place, i walked to the fancy gas station near the dorms. when i panic, my stomach twists, and the last thing i want to do is eat. but i find that if i walk somewhere, with the goal of eating in mind, i will most likely be calm enough to consume some food by the time i get back home. on these anxiety walks, i do eat junk, like candy and fast food. but for me, that is better than not eating at all.

journal stresses. i don’t keep a typical journal. i do date my pages, but instead of writing long sentences, i prefer to journal short stanzas. i find this helps in processing my emotions faster than trying to fit it into a perfect sentence. i began writing this way in april and i have written every day since then. journaling this way prevents me from getting bored or unsatisfied because i couldn’t express myself fully. i also like journaling this way because it provides a basic format for my journal. all of my entries are in forms of theee. on the first page, before the entry starts, i write down all of the good things that happened that day. never the bad so that i can remain positive in the dark times.

watch movies. after journaling, i’ll curl into bed and watch a movie. usually a disney film, but always a kid’s movie. my therapist told me to avoid watching things that make me nervous or scared to avoid insomnia. the last movie i watched—during the day, of course—was big eyes. i’m glad i didn’t watch it at night. not a scary movie, just infuriating.

take meds. if i don’t think i can get through a movie before falling asleep, i take 10mg of lexapro. lexapro is an antidepressant and an anti-anxiety medication. it’s the first medication i’be ever taken, so unfortunately, i can’t compare it to other meds. but, other than it making me drowsy, i don’t have anything bad to say about it. it’s not very strong and i never feel like i’m not in control, which is something i worried about when i first started taking lexapro.

rest/sleep. sleeping after an anxiety attack is so important because it gives your body a chance to restore. once i’ve taken my medication, i’m usually asleep in under twenty minutes. the next morning, i take it easy. i don’t beat myself up if i lay in bed until 11 or get up at 9:30.

if i could sum up this week in one word, it would probably be bewildered. from a series of tweets (and thank you to all who responded sweetly), you may know that i had to quit my job due to emotional distress. i have generalized anxiety disorder and i hate feeling under pressure. i quickly put together that i was being mistreated because of my race. i wasn't going to tolerate it anymore. this past friday, i quit after my supervisor made me handle broken class, while trying to serve customers. earlier, before that, i got reprimanded for asking a question about pricing. that day, like any other, i had to open the store. then i was told i would have to stay from 10 am-9 pm. while handling the glass, my nose began to bleed and i had a really bad panic attack. i was gone for about ten minutes before management decided to crowd around me and watch my nose bleed. just before i left, they all told me to "feel better," as if having a panic attack was easy to cure as the common cold. that made me so angry. but, i was grateful that i surrounded myself with a wonderful group of friends who piled into my apartment after the debacle and let me rant. then to celebrate my freedom, we all went out and took pictures for instagram. the day after i quit, i woke up with really terrible vertigo that left me in bed for about two days. this week's lesson is: don't let anyone make you feel less than because of who you are. here are some poems i wrote today about how my life is going. (i should mention that not everything has hit the fan. i've been talking to a boy for about a month now, and even though he makes mistakes, he's sweet and i'm lucky to have him in my life to distract me from when everything comes crashing down.)

right now, i'm reading simon v the homosapiens agenda--a book i've been secretly admiring from afar for years and I have fiend to see for months now--and it's got me thinking a lot about my own sexual identity.

i'm heading into my senior year of college, only being in one relationship. i don't really know how to classify sexual partners, but let's say i've had around three?? (including relationship boy) i'm currently attempting to pursue a male, but honestly, that's touch and go, and homeboy is in michigan right now. so, there's that. pursuing someone i matched up with on bumble is a completely new experience. i had to get to know someone before i saw them. this threw me for a curve because 100% of the time (for me), it's the other way around. i may have moved a little to fast in telling said-boy i had feelings for him two weeks after we got matched on bumble. but hey, the heart wants what it wants, and this boy was pretty rad at keeping conversations.

i used to think that dating apps were a taboo. i couldn't quite convince myself that love could be found through a profile--that was until i matched with a boy from school. prior to my bumble experience, i also didn't trust dating apps. i'd heard one too many catfish stories. and for a while, i thought maybe i was getting catfished. but then i met him in front of a dining hall by chance, and was relieved that he was real. now, i think dating apps are an easy and less intimidating way to connect with people. it's kind of a choice to keep it going, which i like. whereas, if you start off with meeting face-to-face, it's hard to decide whether to block their number or if you should be ducking behind a bush when they walk by after an awkward first impression. with dating apps, you're in full control. plus, i feel like it's easier to maintain communication because people always have their phone on them. but if you meet, and he doesn't text back, that's a sign honey.

sex is not a big deal for me. in all actuality, i'm actually afraid of it, and could care less if things ever get to that point. i'm more of a "hey let's hold hands" type of gal. even sex scenes in movies make me cringe. i guess i can relate to simon in that i'm a feeler. i have a lot of feelings. i'm also quick to fall off of words, thanks to being an aries.

i believe in safe sex. i think everyone should. i remember the shivers being sent down my spine as my teacher talked about stds and stis and what could happen at parties. while most of the kids in high school were partaking in drunken sex, i spent a lot of time researching at home. from our health textbook, i took extensive notes, reading all the details about chlamydia. now, as a college student, i'm grateful that i was scared in high school. condoms only over here, please.

the biggest mistake i made when it came to sex was rushing. two semesters ago, i met someone that i was ready to give my virginity to. we were friends. i trusted him. and i literally said, "let's just get it over with." which is so horrible to do. and i'll never do it again. i made a pact to myself to wait a least until i was a year into a relationship to ever have sex again. to be honest, sex is not even that fun. i'd much rather go to disneyland than have sex.

it's weird because in college, we don't really have discussions about sex. and not even just sex, sexual abuse, sexual harrassment, etc. i think that's why it's so easy for bad stuff to happen to goo people, because sex ed just kinda goes out of the window in college. when i was a sophomore i went to a safety talk called "safe after dark," thinking it was going to be about traveling in packs and carrying pepper spray. in actuality, it was a talk about stds and rape. we also learned to put on condoms, which was really interesting. even though it was uncomfortable at first, i'm glad i went. it was there that i learned i was being sexually abused, and said abuser walked in. what fun that was...

time, and the construct of it, is one that has controlled me for as long as i can remember. and i know i'm not the only one. at birth, we are already tossed into the routine of measuring time. nurses shout out the exact minutes and seconds at which we entered this world. we go to school at exactly 7:45 a.m. and we leave the building at 2:15 p.m. we clock into work at 9 and clock out at 5. we set times for birthday parties, playdates, mcdonald's runs. even when time slips by us in the form of procrastination, we are still on a schedule to get it all done right now. i do not classify time in numbers, but rather feelings. for example, that 2006 sunset where i felt alive or the month of may where i felt worthless. i've been listening to flower boy by tyler the creator, specifically the song called, "i ain't got time." it made me realize, when people say that phrase, do they really mean it? it's true that often we really don't have time, but in the end, we have to make it. my life is defined by a cycle of constant nostalgia. i'm very nostalgic, always remembering, and always wanting to go back. but in recent months, i've been trying to train my brain to look forward. to move on. to look toward goals and dreams. to end my introduction, i ask you this: does time really matter? (enjoy + comment. also don't forget to check out my youtube channel ChicaPlaysFifa, where i play mobile games and provide filterless commentary. you can watch the video at the end of this post!)

last night i was sitting in my tub, and i was thinking about a lot of things. i thought so hard that my chest began to hurt because i was both angry and confused. first, when the news broke about kate spade (then anthony bourdain), i was hurt. more about how they left this world. but just yesterday, a rapper named xxxtentacion was murdered. tweets and instagram stories flooded my brain at nine am, and this is how i found out. i may be wrong, but there was more conversation about xxxtentacion, and less about kate and anthony. for kate and anthony, the suicide hotline was slapped behind their names and everyone just moved on. but with xxxtentacion, people were expressing their grief. this baffled me so much that i made a thirteen minute voice memo on my phone, with no intentions of making it public. i hate this fine line between death. when it's about suicide, we just say, "oh they had mental health problems." yet when it is a murder, there is more of a community that gathers around the death. why is that? i'm not sure if you feel the same way, but i decided to write a few poems about it. i also added a few thoughts about immigrant families being separated--another thing that disgusts me. (please kindly share your thoughts on both situations below. i'm here to listen: )